


Out of the Bag and Among the Pigeons (Abandoned WiP)

by kayliemalinza



Series: Abandoned WiPs [7]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-11-16
Updated: 2006-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is turned into a cat by a witch. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Bag and Among the Pigeons (Abandoned WiP)

**Author's Note:**

> There are some middle sections that I'll be uploading soon, though they are not continuous. That is, there are hypothetical chapters missing between Chapter 1 and those I'll post later.

As far as witches went, she wasn't very impressive. She didn't hang herbs or jars of body parts from the ceiling, there were no boxes of gems and rabbit feet stuffed into suspiciously-smelling corners, and all of her teeth were white. But then, Jack had been spoiled by his first brush with the black arts when he was a young lad, just figuring out that a smile could get you a lot of things and a lack of self-respect could get you more. That was merely one of the many lessons Jack learned while staying in a weird cabin in the swamp; most of the other lessons couldn't be repeated in polite company.

Oh, the crazy sweet memories.

Jack would be the first to admit he had a soft spot for witches, except he didn't take too well to this one, and after ten minutes in her well-swept bungalow in the outskirts of Port Royal, he determined why. None of the other witches he'd met had cats.

This witch had twenty seven.

"They can see things that humans don't," said the witch, dropping her voice to a low mysterious gravel which would've been more impressive if her accent weren't so obviously London middle class. That, and she had a bit of marmalade on her chin. "They can slip un-noticed through parlour, dungeon, and jungle alike."

Jack carefully nudged away a tomcat intent on wooing his left boot and asked, "Do their hairballs have magical properties?"

* * * 

Jack pouted as he tramped through the moist thickets of Jamaica. It had been a perfectly sensible question, he thought. No need for Cat Lady to get so uppity.

But she had, and now Jack was out of luck in the rare-and-powerful-charm department (except for his smile, of course). It was a shame to have brought his Pearl so close to the snapping jaws of Port Royal and its un-commodious Commodore with nothing to show for it. Jack was tempted to find another disguise (the baker's hat had been knocked off in his daring escape from the witch's hut) and go into the town centre to pick some pockets, just to defray his business expenses a little. Gibbs wasn't expecting him back for three days, after all, and Jack had scarcely had time to look around the last time, what with being arrested and nearly hanged and all that other nonsense.

On second though, perhaps going back to Port Royal wasn't such a good idea. No sense in tempting fate, even if Fate did think he was quite the dapper chap, and well-deserving of special attention. For Fate was a strumpet, and though she may kiss you sweetly one day, the next she'll slap the brains from your head. Jack happened to be very attached to his brains, and furthermore, his hair beads had a habit of flying around and whacking the bridge of his nose. Though his nose wasn't his handsomest feature (Jack felt his eyes were particularly alluring), he was quite fond of it without bumps and bruises, and he also thought his neck was the perfect length already and didn't need any stretching, thanks very much.

So there was nothing for Jack to do but rejoin his dark lady in the hidden cove and sail off again into the wild blue yonder, standing in a very captainly pose at the helm with his hat set at a jaunty angle.

The thought cheered Jack up and he began to hum as he crackled through the undergrowth. It was a traditional tavern tune, well-recognized by every sailor worth his salt, though Jack did modify the lyrics a bit as a tribute to the, ahem, _endearing_ qualities of the witch's cats. He quickly noticed something was amiss: his voice, normally so clear and flowing, the sonic nectar of the angels themselves, was hoarse and prickly. Jack stood still, utterly perplexed, and delicately cleared his throat. He sang a bit more, but now his voice was even worse! It was hissy and warped, nothing like the mellifluous gift he normally bestowed upon the sky and the grateful ocean. He lifted a hand to pat his throat and yelped. His fingers were looking very queer—sort of bulbous at the end and slightly pink. And they were _shrinking_. In fact, all of him seemed to be shrinking!

Now, Jack had been a young lad once upon a time and had thought it a daft idea that his arms and legs were going to one day grow bigger, but it had happened and now he supposed that he should give the same consideration to the idea that it's possible to grow smaller. Also, the older boys at the docks had told him he'd grow hair on his palm if he kept doing that, and it seemed they were right about that, too. 'Course, they hadn't mentioned that it would grow so thickly, or be splotched in different colors, or grow on the back of his hand, too, and then subsume his sleeves and creep up his arms and shoulders and neck and—his HAIR! Where was his HAIR?!

Jack batted in panic at the top of his head, feeling some short soft bristle but no silken locks or roguish dreads or beautiful beads. But then, there! A mischievous dreadlock, lurking insolently at the corner of his vision! Jack leapt to catch it, but the dreadlock flew away, and Jack chased after it, spinning in circles before catching the rascal and giving it a good bite, so as to teach it not to run away again. And that HURT. It WASN'T SUPPOSED TO.

Jack stared at the dreadlock, the tip of which was thrashing angrily at him, and at his small furry hands clutching it, and the rest of his body, which was sleek and cuddly as always but quite a bit hairier than he was used to. Jack crossed his eyes to get a good look at the pink tip of his nose and the whiskers (nothing like Gibbs'!) sprouting out on either side and said, "Oh bugger."

Except, of course, it came out as "Meow."


End file.
